


wrapped around your lies

by starkartifices



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Slow Burn, Takes place after dr3, lots of angst i can't stress this enough and when i say slow burn i mean it, make of that what you will, ouma is suffering, pregame oumasai and postgame oumasai are gonna go side by side, pregame versions are their despair versions, shuichi refuses to give up on him, theyre bros tho, took canon ending into consideration and elected to ignore it, v3 is a simulation, veddie but make it hajime and izuru
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2020-12-23 17:17:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21084977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkartifices/pseuds/starkartifices
Summary: Ouma Kokichi hated telling the truth.Now, he hated having to deal with the truth.Yet here he was being forced to acknowledge the fact that the killing game he'd been a part of had been nothing but a copycat version of the original and the world's biggest, most awful event in human history, the tragedy, is nowhere near over.





	1. awakening

**Author's Note:**

> basically i have a strong hatred towards v3's ending so here i am writing this pretty much as a coping mechanism. 
> 
> anyway v3 was a simulation and this fic takes place right after dr3 which means v3 took place more or less at the same time as sdr2. just thought i'd clarify the time line for now.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> to his dismay ouma finally wakes up from the simulation to saihara waiting for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw// mild description of a panic attack and a little bit of graphic description of gore

_ Why am I still breathing? _

He was on the brink of consciousness and he hated it. This wasn’t supposed to happen. The hydraulic press should have squashed him flat. To smithereens. Until all that was left was crushed bones, minced meat and gooey organs. How was he still breathing? Why?  _ Why  _ is he still breathing? 

_ Why am I still alive? _

He could sense something on top of him. Was it the press? Did the electrobomb fail? No, that can’t be it. If there was something he could trust Iruma with, it was her talent. She wouldn’t have handed it over to him if they didn’t do their job. Iruma-chan was a lot of things but she’d never half ass anything that was related to her showing off her inventor skills in all its glory. 

His receptory senses seemed to start functioning again, and he could feel something rather squishy and comfortable underneath him. Squishy? He pushed his fingers, with whatever minor strength he had, into the material to cross check. Soft gel padding met his touch, not the cold hard metal he should have been laying on. His ears registered the quiet beeps of a machine that seemed too close to him and once again he was struck with how wrong and out of place it seemed. 

Even the air he was breathing in was too clean for it be from the hangar. Everything felt wrong. 

Wrong. 

_ Wrong.  _

** _Wrong._ **

Cool air started to blow, making goosebumps rise on exposed skin. He forced his eyes open as panic started to set in deep in his gut and was greeted with the sight of a semi-translucent light green cover barely a couple inches from his face. He tried to move his head, the sudden movement only succeeding to make him feel nauseous. From what he could make out, he realized he was in some sort of pod. 

His vision turned foggy as he noticed the gas that had started to seep in. He tried to breathe but it felt like his chest was constricting. His throat felt dry, It was like he was choking. Everything was closing up on him, restricting him. All his senses felt like they were in overdrive. There was just too much. Too much for him to register and it was making him dizzy. 

He felt so dizzy. 

It was so loud. Everything was just so loud. 

The sudden beep from the machine, which he faintly noticed was coming from the pod he was in, caused him to physically trash around as a fresh wave of panic and fear washed over him. It wasn’t until the light green cover had moved completely out of the way, did he sit up gasping hard. 

He still felt light headed and weightless which probably wasn’t a good sign. He looked down at his hands, barely taking note of the fact that the nondescript pajamas he was wearing didn’t belong to him. His skin was paler than usual, his hand frail, bones in them standing out more defined than normal. He was weak. He'd always been on the weaker side but it had never been this bad. 

_ I should be dead.  _

His attention was brought back to his immediate surroundings when he felt something on his shoulder. Flinching violently from the contact, he turned his head, the feeling of nauseousness resurfacing at the sudden movement, only to come face to face with  _ him. _

"Hey," his voice was soft. Softer than he remembered. His goldish-grey eyes were looking at him with equal parts worry, concern, relief and happiness. His baseball cap was back on but that didn't mean he wasn't looking at him in the eyes like he always did. If he had to make a guess, he'd say the other boy was wearing it out of comfort. His navy blue hair was peeking out from underneath the cap. He was dressed in the same nondescript pajamas as him except they were black. 

_ My beloved.  _

Subconsciously, his brain registered the fact that his panic was slowly subsiding. The fear however still lingered. He had no idea what was happening or why it was happening but he could breathe now. Maybe the knowledge that he was no longer struggling for air was supposed to be of comfort to him. 

And it would have been if it wasn't for how the other boy was looking at him with something akin to gratefulness and desperation, like he had been waiting for him to wake up. 

Like he had been waiting for  _ him _ . 

Like he actually cared about  _ him _ . 

It made him sick.

Sick to his stomach **. ** The kind of 'sick' that made him absolutely revolted and made him want to throw up at the cruelty of it all. His chest was aching with a pain so intense filled with longing and anger that seemed to increase the longer he stared at his beloved. 

With a complacent smile on his face, the other offered his hand to help him up. 

It was then when rage washed over him, burying the tiny voice in his brain that was telling him to reach out and grab his hand, to reach out towards the warmth, to reach out to his beloved. He let the strong burst of rage take control of his emotions as he smacked his hand aside, the words of his beloved echoing in his head 

"You're alone," Saihara Shuichi had said not too long ago, with a different look in his eyes, much different than the one he was giving him now. It had been filled with freezing coldness and hatred and anger. All of which his beloved had directed at him. "And you always will be."

He noticed the look of hurt that flashed across Saihara's face, it pained him but the sense of satisfaction he felt at having been able to hurt him drowned it out. 

"I- I know there's a lot I need to apologize for," Saihara had started to say. 

He really wanted to throw up. He could taste the bitterness in his mouth. He wanted him gone. He wanted to be alone. Wasn't that how he was supposed to be anyway?

"Leave Saihara," he said, face neutral and voice frigid, as he looked right at the other boy. "Just leave." 

Saihara looked like he'd been slapped in the face. He looked so wretched and dejected, it was pitiable. He wasn't expecting Saihara to be this distressed, more so than when he had smacked his hand away. He doesn't question it. 

"I realize what I said may have been-" Saihara spoke up, he assumed, in an attempt to fix things. 

Too bad. He didn't want to hear it. "Did you not hear what I just said? I asked you to leave,  _ Saihara."  _

Saihara looked so crestfallen and crushed. He didn't fail to notice the resigned sadness in his eyes, as if he knew he'd be pushed away. It made him angrier. 

"Ou-"

"LEAVE," he yelled at him, putting all the energy, anger, bitterness and frustration he could muster into that one word, to get the point across. He just wanted to be alone. 

_ You said it yourself, didn't you, my beloved? I was meant to be alone.  _

Once upon a time, he would have been touched at the gesture, giddy even. He would have thrown himself into his arms. His beloved Saihara-chan coming to him the moment he was awake again. How doting. 

But now? 

Now, Ouma Kokichi wished he never woke up, as he stared at Saihara's back as he left the room, leaving him alone with the words he had once said to him echoing in his head. 

** _"You're alone Ouma. And you always will be."_ **

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah i really hope you liked that ! honestly im really excited for this because ive been itching to write about ouma and how he would have been after the game and there was so much angst content so naturally i gave in to temptation.
> 
> ive no idea how long this fic will end up since it's mostly fueled by my need of how ouma would react to this particular situation. but like i said im really excited for this and honestly would love to hear your input on this too so uh yes kudos/comments would definitely be appreciated and thank you so so much for reading this i can't stress this enough <3
> 
> lastly, chapter lengths will increase with time or will mostly depend on the chapter.


	2. revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> three pregame flashbacks and more self-introspection yay oh also a non binary oc that i didnt give a name yet not that important hope that doesnt bother anyone 
> 
> tw : graphic violence scene which ha a little bit of non con element (dw nothing actually really happens and gods im never writing that again) its in the first flahsback thingy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh so this is way over a month late and im so sorry !! but on the bright side this thing is long. yeah anyway the reason it took forever was along the lines of i scraped the chapter and rewrote when it was almost done the first time and then i had project deadlines and two whole weeks of exams and uh yeah and long story short it is finally here ! 
> 
> also uh read the end notes too for an explanation on certain things that show up in this chapter.

_ The stench from the dumpster beside him was unbearable. He was sitting in a dark abandoned alleyway, cowering behind it, holding his bag close as if his life depended on it. Tiredness seeped into his bones and he knew he didn't have it in him to run or escape if they found him again. He'd always been on the weaker side, he couldn't remember much about his past but he was sure that had remained consistent.  _

_ The constant fear of being recognized kept him going. He had no idea why they were after him. He wasn’t an ultimate. There was no way he could be one. He was nothing. A nobody. He couldn't even remember where he came from. Or where he used to live, where he grew up. He couldn't even remember his family.  _

_ All he knew was that he was abandoned, hungry, tired and sleep-deprived.  _

_ Thinking about his past made his head throb, but it was too late to avoid the onslaught now. He couldn't stop the blinding white flash of pain in his skull, causing him to double over, curling in on himself. He bit his lip drawing blood as he tried to stay quiet. It was taking everything he had to be quiet, to not let out a bloodcurdling scream.  _

_ The ordeal lasted thirty seconds and then he was alone with an overflowing dumpster in a dark alleyway and a metallic taste in his mouth.  _

_ He didn't attempt to move from his spot even though he knew he should. This occurred every time he tried to piece something together of himself trying to figure out who he was. He should’ve known better by now with how often it seemed to occur. He felt weak and exhausted, even more than he had originally been. It'd been three whole days since he'd last had a proper meal. _

_ His breathing was ragged as silent tears streamed down his face. He couldn’t do this anymore. Maybe he should give up, just lie here on the filth strewn ground, with something sharp digging into his side. No one would miss him. There was nothing to him. He was just a boring sob excuse of a person, with absolutely no one to cry over him if he was gone. Maybe that was a good thing.  _

_ He didn’t know how long he stayed like that, staring at a spot on the wall. It may have been hours or merely three seconds. As time went by, the temperature seemed to drop.  _

_ It was a while before he attempted to move, rolling a bit to the side. His body was numb and the elbow he had been laying on ached, but he finally managed to sit up. There was a glass shard on the ground near his hand. From the looks of it, he is fairly certain that it was the same object that had been under him.  _

_ He picked it up, avoiding the sharp edges, and held it out in front of him. It was narrower at the top end, widening towards the middle before Light glinted off of its edges, giving away how sharp the tip of it was. He gazed at it for a while, oddly captivated by it. He ran his finger along with it, hardly surprised to see himself bleed. The glass momentarily forgotten, he stared at his finger in fascination, admiring the dark shade of red against his pale skin. He watched it swell in size, spreading a bit as it grew. He could feel something twist inside him. Almost like it was being awoken. _

_ His concentration was broken by the sound of footsteps coming from his right. Panic seized him as the footsteps seemed to draw closer. As silent pleas of being left alone filled his thoughts, he pushed himself up to his feet. He gripped the shard, making sure it was tight in his grasp regardless of the pain it seemed to cause. Unsteadily, he turned towards the entrance of the alleyway.  _

_ In the darkness, he could see the silhouette of a man staggering towards him. Even from this distance, he could smell the stench of alcohol on him. And as the man stepped into view, one look was all he needed to confirm his suspicions. The man was roaring drunk. His eyes were bloodshot, his nose was crooked, implying that it had been broken a good amount of times. Drool seemed to dribble down his face, similar to the ripped up and stained ahegao hoodie he was wearing.  _

_ He stepped backward, hoping he’d be able to get as far away as he possibly could from the man. His line of thought seemed to become more incoherent as he tried to figure out an escape route so he could leave before he was spotted. Obviously, that didn’t happen. He ended up tripping over his bag, that was still discarded on the ground. The commotion got the man’s attention and he could only watch in sheer horror at the slowly widening grin as if the sleazy creep had stumbled upon a goldmine.  _

_ He somehow managed to get back on his feet, hopelessly wishing the man would stay away. But of course, he only came closer, leering at him. “What’re you doin’ here little boy?”  _

_ If he came a few more feet closer he could reach out and grab ahold of him. Why was it that he couldn’t move? His hand continued to grip the glass shard, his mind zoning out as the ugly brute continued to move his mouth, forming words that he continued to block out. He was sure there was only one thing that the man was after. The only thing he would take from a person like him, or any person he could get his hands on. He just happened to be unlucky enough to have crossed his path.  _

_ Why wasn’t he running? Why wouldn’t his legs move?  _

_ The pervert grabbed ahold of him, slamming him against the wall making him cry out in pain. HIs skull throbbed from the impact. He was so tired, why couldn’t he just be left alone? Why can’t the world let him fade away already? He was a nobody. Was this why this was happening to him? The man leaned in close to his face, his horrible breath making him gag. “Be a good little boy for me. You might even enjoy it.”  _

_ He was a nobody, right? Was there any point in resisting? The grip on the shard never falters, his hold on it was so tight, he could feel it cutting the skin of his palm, slicing it open. He doesn’t care. He’s tired. He doesn’t want to do this anymore. Maybe he should just- No, what was he even thinking?  _

_ Just because he was no one didn’t mean he would be used like this.  _

_ He raised his hand, pushing the man away from him with all the strength he could muster. It was only after he noticed the blood that began to stain the hoodie did he realize that the hand he had used to push him away with was the one holding the shard. He could see the man screaming at him, cursing him, giving as many death threats as he possibly could. He could see his mouth moving angrily, spit flying. He could see the bloodstain spreading, a deep red. The smell of blood seemed to get stronger the more he stood there.  _

_ There was so much blood. But maybe, maybe it just wasn’t enough, was it? It was only a little stab wound after all. He tilted his head to the side, regarding the advancing snorting filthy excuse of a man approach him, going on about teaching him a lesson, force him into submission and fucked him till he bled. He let the dog yap, the twisting feeling inside of him growing stronger, the presence that came with it overwhelming him.  _

_ He could feel a thin smile slowly spread across his face. Every part of him sang in glee as he moved forward seizing his chance, his hand raised in an arc as he reached out, slashing at the man’s face with the glass. The despairing scream that erupted from the vile pedophilic fuck fueled the cheerfulness his body felt. He was so blissfully at ease, so free. He was absolutely delighted as he slashed again, barely giving him time to recover.  _

_ He giggled as the pig fell back on his ass, his screams louder than before. It was like he was downright wailing. He was touching his face, the look of despair evident in his eyes as he stared at him in horror. It filled him with joy. The sniveling scum tried scooting away from him as he stepped closer, standing over him, the blood-stained shard still in his grasp.  _

_ “Be a good little boy for me. It won’t hurt a bit if you just comply. You might even enjoy it,” he laughed, lunging forward with an intense ferocity. The shrieks that filled the air as the trash tried to shield his face pleased him, but it wasn’t enough. More of it there needed to be more. More blood, more despair. Let it taint the world. Let it spread.  _

_ There was blood everywhere. On the wall, splattered on his own face, a puddle forming on the ground. He doesn’t stop hacking away at it. Not when the face was in smithereens. Not when it was completely ripped to shreds, completely unrecognizable. Not when the body stopped resisting or moving altogether.  _

_ He doesn’t stop bringing his hand down over and over again on the ruined mass of skin and muscle. He doesn’t stop laughing.  _

_ Later on, when he finally registered the utter silence around him, other than his heavy breathing, from the lack of despairing screeches that had made his nerves sing in pleasure, did he stop. His hand began to shake, the bloodied glass dropping from it as he stood there facing the true horror of what he had done.  _

_ Fear took over him as he grabbed his discarded bag, proceeding to run as fast as he possibly could to get away from his handiwork.  _

_ All the while, he wished he was running away from himself instead.  _

In one of the many assigned rooms for the volunteers of the copycat killing game, Ouma Kokichi woke up gasping hard. He sat up, throwing the covers off of him in an attempt to get out of bed as fast as he could. His shirt was drenched in sweat, his hair was sticking to his forehead and his skin felt like it was burning. His body was shaking as he stood in the middle of the room still in shock from the “dream” he’d just had. 

He scratched at his skin, allowing the pricking sensation to ground him back to reality or wake him up if he was still dreaming. He felt like he was still dreaming. How would he even be sure whether he was ever actually awake or not since even in the simulation, heck even the dream he had just woken up from, they all felt real. The pain he had felt in them was real. 

He just didn’t know anymore. 

But, as he slowly sank down to sit on the floor with his back against the bed with his face in his hands, he realized for the time being he was safe. No one was after him. He was in his assigned room, away from everything. He is fine. He’s fine. For now, he’s safe.

As safe as he ever could possibly be. 

_ Breathe in. Breathe out.  _

He had been told, at one of those daily sessions, that his memories would be returning to him within 2-3 weeks. The first few memories that he'd remember would be among those that had made the biggest impact on his mind, regardless of whether they were, in the plainest terms, the ones that filled him with happiness or the ones that made him wish he'd never been born in the first place. It probably said a lot about him if his first memory was of him mutilating someone's face to ribbons. 

However, there was the inevitable question of the memory being legit or not. It seemed to match up with the information given to him during the sessions he'd had with his assigned with his researcher? Scientist? Therapist? Wasn’t he their test subject? Their lab rat? It didn’t matter. He’d tried to drown them out whenever they started talking about the first killing game, the ultimate hunt and the remnant of despairs. Although that didn’t mean he remembered most of they had said, word for word. If he had to place the “dream” on a timeline, then he was pretty sure it was after he’d gotten his talent suppressed while he was on the run from the Hunt. But that didn't mean it couldn’t have been real, could it? 

He had no idea what to trust anymore. They had said the memories that would be showing up now were going to be his. They had sworn on it, but how does one even trust the words of someone who'd already tampered with his memories before. How could he trust them when they were the ones who made him question everything about himself in the first place? About whether everything he remembered about himself was either forcefully fabricated into his mind by them or a lie he had made up? Who could he even trust to know what was even real anymore when he couldn't even trust himself?

But regardless of the turmoil that ran inside of him deep down, he knew that the dream he had had was genuine. It was a real memory. He just knew it was him, face splattered with the blood of the first human he'd ever murdered. Ouma wouldn't be surprised if he were to find out that that hadn't been his only victim.

Maybe the others were right to be skeptical of him. He knew no one would have missed him when he had died. He knew they would have been happy to know that it had been Mamota in the exisal, that he had gotten to say his last goodbyes to them. He knew that they would've hated him and tried to kill him themselves before Monokuma could execute him if it had been him instead. That didn't mean he had wanted to die. A selfish little part of him had wanted to live as he had laid on the cold metal of the hydraulic press, he almost wanted to scream at Mamota to stop the damn thing before wondering why. Had there been anything even left for him? Had he been truly naive enough to believe that he deserved to live? And now here he was safe and sound getting his memories back, being told what had happened to him since the tragedy occurred, being told about the ultimate hunt and that he was on the run to finally suppress his talent just to live. 

the thought made Ouma want to puke.

The memory of blood splattered across his face, stabbing repeatedly at the man's face until it was an unrecognisable mass of facial muscles, blood, and skin. He remembered what they had told him. A cure That's why they made the simulation to cure them by injecting them with "liquid hope". A breathy laugh ripped out of his throat, harsh against his ears. 

Yeah, good fucking luck being able to treat that. 

Ouma sat there, in the dark, for a long time. Contemplating. Hating. Breathing.

* * *

They were alone in their office, tapping their pen against the desk, wondering whether letting the boy know about the development for the cure had been a good idea or not. They had been instructed not to discuss anything about the cure, but they were worried about Ouma. They knew he was doing his best to avoid everyone else. They also knew that most of his classmates were still skeptical of him. However, there seemed to be some who were genuinely concerned for him but Ouma would never have believed it even if they told him. 

Every head researcher had been given a student to monitor over and theirs was Ouma Kokichi. Maybe they were being biased in their feelings but they knew Ouma was a good person. Seeing Ouma as he was now didn't sit right with them, it reminded them of the first time they had met. Back when the Ultimate Hunt was going strong and it was too dangerous for Ultimates to be seen about. 

_ He'd been timid, soft-spoken, scared and afraid.  _

_ Yet the fear of being seen as boring was still with him. _

_ His memories and talents as an ultimate had just been repressed. He was no longer wearing his usual white get up, instead choosing to don his new high school uniform. He had been in hiding, trying to live as normally as he could with despair running rampant around him.  _

_ He had been silent for a while not offering up any conversation starters, just staring and judging. They'd seen his eyes glance towards the door every other second with the hold on the bag in his lap getting progressively tighter the longer he sat. His eyes, also, kept darting to their briefcase as if he was wary of it.  _

_ It then struck them that this version of Ouma was just as observant as he originally was. While the Ultimate Supreme Leader had utilized that ability to manipulate and stay one step ahead, this despair induced Ouma, however, was using it to analyze whether the situation was potentially dangerous enough to make a run for it.  _

_ That had made them smile, which seemed to slightly calm Ouma down a bit, the curiosity in his eyes never wavering. That was when they'd decided it was time to get down to business and that Ouma still managing to sit there was a good indicator that he would like to listen to what they had to say.  _

_ "How would you feel about being an ultimate again?"  _

_ That obviously had not been what Ouma was expecting. He sunk lower into his seat. If anything his grip on his bag managed to get even stronger. He was scared. "Why? W-what do you mean  _ again _ ?"  _

_ His voice had come out strangled and small. They knew there was only one way to go with this and that was by being as straightforward as possible. "Because that's who you truly are. Ouma Kokichi, the Ultimate Supreme Leader."  _

_ He shook his head wildly, voicing every version of a denial that he could think of. "I'm not. No, no, no, there's no way. I can't be. I would have been dead. There's no way. No, they'll kill me. I am not an ultimate. Please, I am not."  _

_ The sight made their heartache.  _

_ In the end, it had taken a lot of convincing that they'd keep his identity a secret and provide him with protection and make sure he'd be safe. It took them to let slip the fact that they were part of the Future Foundation, which wasn't an outright lie because they were it was just a small fraction of the people apart of the team that was from Future Foundation, did he finally agree and sign the papers after he'd read through everything and asked as many questions he possibly could.  _

Sometimes they wondered if working undercover for the Future Foundation was even worth it. After all, even the search for a cure was being funded by them in secret so as not to call the attention of the higher-ups who were more hell-bent on exterminating the Remnants of Despair till there was nothing left. 

They sighed, Ouma had looked at them like they were stupid when they had mentioned the cure. Honestly, they were expecting it but why was it so hard to believe a cure could be formed. Weren't they trying to make something that was on par with what the basic function of an antidepressant is?

They looked at the portfolio picture of the boy known as the ultimate supreme leader. They'd come to grow extremely fond of him and could only hope that the sessions they'd had together would help him in their purpose. His memories would be coming back to him soon and they hoped they'd done their job properly with trying to make sure the information overload that would be occurring soon as everything would be coming back to him at once would be bearable with the knowledge he currently had. 

As they left their office, locking up behind them, they wished that maybe this time around he could have someone to rely on. For the time being, however, they had done all they could for him. Now, they could only believe in Ouma Kokichi. 

* * *

_ He could see why people would think they were alike. They had the same hairstyle, the same shade of purple hair and eyes, same pale skin and same facial structure. But that was where the comparison ended. The boy in the picture was more confident, more of a presence than he would ever be. There was no way they were the same person, how couldn't they see it?  _

_ The other boy's grin was taunting as if to say he knew more about you than you ever would. The look in his eyes was challenging, asking you to call him out on his credibility. There was pride mixed in there too and an overwhelming aura that forced you to pay attention to him whether you wanted to or not.  _

_ There were fifteen others on the poster along with him but his attention was drawn solely towards his doppelganger. The Ultimate Supreme Leader. He’d often wondered what sort of talent that was. It wasn’t a common one, on the more unusual side. Rare. He wasn’t surprised, the boy did seem special with the biggest amount of personality anyone could ever have. He’d been staring at the paper for so long taking in every detail of him, he could picture the image perfectly at the back of his mind.  _

_ The Ultimate Supreme Leader.  _ _ ò̴͍͎̆̀u̸̬̺̪̼͚̻̪͎̗̓m̶̭̥̟͔̘̫̑̈́̀̾͑̽̃̽̄á̴̤͓̰̪̱̓͜ ̵̡͚̙̖̠̪̲̈̀͑. k̷̫͓̞̟̺̗͍͋o̵͈͚̠͂̽̿̎̐̊̒̑k̴̨̢̜͈͕̪̾̍̎̂̏͆̏̚͝ͅi̴͈͚̠̋́͊̈̄̕͠c̶̛̩̫̬̱̝̳̠̈́̀͑̈́͗̉͜h̷̰̻̿̌͌̈́̒ì̶̻͖̺̤̤̼̦̓͑͂̔͝. _

_ Pain seared through his mind, seemed through travel to every part of him, lighting his nerves on fire. He dropped the poster, falling to his knees, clutching his head. The pain was worse than anything he ever felt. It felt like needles were pricking every part of his skin while a hammer was splitting his skull open to scoop the contents of his brains out. He screamed and screamed till his throat went raw but no sound came out. He couldn’t breathe, his lungs felt like they were closing in on himself.  _

_ He was closing in on himself, till all he was was a fragile boy with tears streaming down his face and his skull throbbing, his nose stinging and his body aching. He was fading, losing consciousness so he closed his eyes accepting the darkness that rose up all around him and he sank into it, accepting it, allowing it to wash away the pain.  _

_ Until all, he was left with was fear. _

  
  
  


_ The warmth was the first thing he registered when he finally came to his senses. He could hear the sounds of a fire crackling nearby, the heat soothing him. As he tried to turn on his side to face the warmth, his body stung in pain making him wince. It was enough to make him open his eyes.  _

_ The next thing he noticed was that something was hastily thrown over his body which oddly looked like someone’s blazer. He slowly started to sit up, groaning at the effort, his hand gripping the fabric of the blazer in an attempt to steady himself. The blazer itself looked worn out as if it hadn’t been washed in a while and had been through a lot. It also oddly looked like it was a part of a high school uniform. But why? Why was it draped over him?  _

_ He turned his attention towards the fire that was burning beside him only to notice a boy, his age from the looks of it, wearing a baseball cap that shielded most of his face, looking back at him. He was holding a thick wooden stick of some sort, maybe a tree branch, frozen in the act of prodding at the flames. Dark hair peeked out from under his baseball cap and his eyes, whatever was visible to him, resemble liquid gold. He was wearing a white shirt, or what once would have been considered white except now there were stains and dirt spattered over it and something that suspiciously looked liked dry blood. There was also a tear in the side of it. His tie was loose around his neck and his sleeves were rolled up exposing pale skin that seemed to glow in the light.  _

_ He continued to stare at him, unsure about whether the other was real or a figment of his imagination. The other boy stared back mouth slightly agape, before snapping to his senses and turning his head to look to the side. He watched curiously as the other boy reached to pull his cap a bit lower in an attempt to cover the flush that had shown up. He didn’t understand why he was even bothering.  _

_ “Ah ... uh,'' his voice broke the silence as he turned to look back at him, after clearing his throat and gaining his composure. “Uh, how are you feeling?”  _

_ “Huh?”  _

_ The boy frowned at him. He wasn’t sure but the expression on his face looked like genuine concern. It wasn’t something he was used to being directed at him. He watched as he got up and made his way towards him before kneeling so they were at eye level. He didn’t move as the other boy raised his hand and pushed his hair aside, placing the back of his hand on his forehead to check his temperature. His hand felt smooth against his skin and he couldn’t bring himself to look away from him, even though he could feel his face heat up at the contact. Up close, he noticed his eyes were more of a goldish-grey, gambogeish grey to be precise. He was beautiful, he noted, absent-mindedly.  _

_ The other boy bit his lip, his eyebrows scrunched together in concentration completely lost in thought as if he were analyzing the situation, even going so far as bringing his free hand up to his chin. Finally, he moved his hand from his forehead making him instantly miss the contact. “You've got a fever. It’s nothing major but I think it, uhm, could probably escalate if it isn’t taken care of. Also, I’m not sure if you’re aware but you, uhm, did have a minor nosebleed too, so I think it’d be best if you, uh, refrained from moving around too much.”  _

_ “Oh.” He couldn’t remember getting a nosebleed, all he could recall was the sudden headache he’d gotten which seemed to swallow him up whole. He wasn’t surprised that it had managed to give him a fever.  _

_ “I, uhm, took care of it, uh, as best as I could but you’re going to need to rest,” he looked away, absolutely refusing to look at him. There was no denying the blush that dusted his cheekbones.  _

_ Huh. It would have been endearing if he wasn’t so confused over why he would have even bothered to take care of him in the first place. And to get flustered about it too. He didn’t understand at all. No one cared about him, no one ever did. Nor did anyone ever show genuine concern towards him or tell him he needed to rest or made sure he was warm. Why was he doing all of this?  _

_ The boy got to his feet, his expression slightly unsure as if there was something he had to say but he had forgotten what it was. All the while he continued to observe him, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that someone had voluntarily taken care of him.  _

_ He almost didn’t hear him speak up again, his voice now taking a more sheepish tone. “Also, I, uh, used the flyers that were lying around you to start the fire. I hope it wasn’t anything important, was it?” _

_ He was looking at him expectantly almost as if- Ah, he was waiting for a reply. It’s not like the posters meant anything to him, they were plastered almost everywhere throughout the city. He wasn’t sure why he was asking about it in the first place. “It’s okay.”  _

_ He looked relieved and it threw him off guard. Why? Why did he care whether or not that was important to him? Why did he take care of him? Why was he making sure that he was okay? Wouldn’t he be better off without having to look after a burden? “Who are you?”  _

_ He hadn’t realized he had voiced the last question out loud. Judging by the startled look on the boy’s face, he wasn’t expecting to be questioned either. But he recovered quickly enough. “Ah, I haven’t introduced myself yet, have I?”  _

_ There was a soft smile on his face, as he reached his hand out towards him, “I’m Saihara Shuichi.”  _

_ Hesitantly, he took his hand, figuring that introducing himself was the least he could do for him after all. His hand was comforting to hold on to, bigger than his own and he never wanted to let go. The contact made him feel blissful, he felt hyper-aware of the contact, of his smile, of how his palm felt against his own, of how the eyelashes that framed his eyes looked rather feminine, of how he was absolutely breathtaking. It filled him with warmth, making him feel safe, safer than he’d ever felt in a long time. He knew it was wishful thinking, but he hoped he could stay in this moment forever.  _

_ “Ouma Kokichi.,” he supplied.  _

_ “Hello Ouma-kun,” Saihara smiled.  _

_ Safe. Ouma felt safe.  _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ohboy i cant even begin to describe how much trying to figure out the pregame selves fucked me up like the audition tapes say something but the prologue ?? had to replay it to get my facts right and all it did was confuse me even more so in the end you could think of their pregame versions as their mildly despair induced selves where their audition tape pregame side of them is the despairing side which is normally hidden away like how chisa managed to do the entire time in dr3. idk if this makes sense but i hope it becomes clearer later on ! 
> 
> now that ive got all that out of the way please bear with me for a moment : OKAY I GENUINELY WASN'T EXPECTING THIS TO GET THE ATTENTION IT DID ?? I WASNT REALLY EXPECTING ANYTHING TBH SO UHM IM SO VERY VERY GRATEFUL AND I REALLY HOPE THIS DOESNT DISAPPOINT AND JUST THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING THIS IM JUST GONNA GO SOB. but seriously thank you ! and im really sorry this took so long and i hope the next chapter comes sooner but its probably better if you uh don't have any expectations on that


	3. realization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hajime investigates. more information dump yay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man uni sucks ass anyway this chapter had parts to it like the previous one except i didn't like the first part so here i am posting it as a separate chapter ! yay ! also im so sorry this is so late i can explain: i got into homestuck. also trying to write three wips at once is a terrible idea who let me do that 
> 
> also is now a good time to mention i have no actual plot idea for this whatsoever?

_ “I know it's asking a lot, Hinata-senpai but I would really appreciate it if you looked into it.” He could hear the gratefulness in his voice even through the static.  _

_ "Hmm." Hajime wasn't really paying attention to him. He was scrolling through the documents being displayed on the adjacent screen. "Don't worry about it, Makoto. I'll find them." _

It had been a whole week since that conversation occurred and Hinata Hajime was losing his goddamn mind. There was no trail to be found. No clues that pointed to how 15 teenagers would just disappear off the face of the planet. All he had to go on was their individual profiles, recovered from the servers from Hope's Peak and put together by Future Foundation. 

The 79th class of Hope's Peak Academy.

Hajime turned his attention to the screen that was displaying the wanted poster with their faces staring back at him. It still bothered him how their information was somehow leaked to the public. Sure the list of students attending their first year there had always been given away to the public but that was a week before the start of the new school year. The tragedy occurred before that could happen. 

His eyes glazed over their talents, a lot of them had the usual talents you'd expect to see: a pianist, a certain form of martial arts, a child caregiver, a tennis player and ah, another detective. There was even an inventor and a robotics engineer, he noted. 

It wasn't that he hadn't looked at their talents before. In retrospect, he might have actually spent a good couple hours of his investigative time staring at them, trying to find a connection, something anything that could possibly point out how they'd basically disappeared off of the trace of the Earth. Maybe the inventor and robotics engineer managed to put something together. 

He yawned, rubbing at his eyes. How long had he spent here? .Maybe, he'll take a break in the next hour. Probably get another cup of coffee. He eyed the empty coffee mugs present on the desk beside him. Or not. He sighed, leaning back in his chair to state up at the ceiling. He should probably return those back to the kitchens. There can't possibly be a surplus supply of mugs, someone was going to yell at him sooner or later for hoarding. He'd bet on it being Sonia or Komaeda. 

Another heavy sigh.  _ Komaeda _ .

Every waking moment for the past week had been spent either thinking about Komeda or about the task at hand. A task he was currently avoiding by thinking about Komeda, something that was becoming a common occurrence with how hopeless he felt about being able to locate them. 15 students and not a single trail or piece of evidence that could work as a starting point. And it wasn't even like they had talents suited to this sort of thing. Sure, there was raw power and some really intelligent ones in the bunch but for the most part, the only suspicious talents that may have had a hand in this in the first place were the ultimate supreme leader and the ultimate survivor. 

And apparently the ultimate child-caregiver wasn’t who she said she was and is actually the ultimate assassin but that was all he had. Maybe he needed someone else to look at this. Look at it from an angle he hadn’t considered. He frowned at the scribbled over list of potential starting points to work on. All options were either scratched out or abandoned THe only amount of details Makoto managed to give him were their personal documents and the wanted posters that were plastered around which quite frankly isn't enough information to track down 15 highschool students in any way whatsoever. 

Especially not when there was the existence of the ultimate hunt who was also hunting them down. Naturally, that was the main reason why they would have gone into hiding in the first place. They seemed to be doing a pretty good job of it too if the Hunt hadn’t managed to get their hands on them yet. Though there was no way they could stay hidden this long. Not when they had the Ultimate Hunt going on. 

It’s not like they were methodical. far from it really. The Ultimate Hunt was a mob by the truest sense of the word. Most of it was just people spurred on by the need to feel safe again and the only way to do that is to take out the threat. The threat being the remaining ultimates. 

Ugh, there had to be more information than what Naegi gave him. Hacking into security cameras might be a bust because of how most of them were destroyed first thing since the Tragedy began. This really required a hands-on investigation. 

** _Hack into the Future Foundation database._ ** _ _

And there he was again. Back from his slumber. Hajime almost forgot he was there, to begin with. The cold monotonous voice almost grating on his nerves. No, not almost. Definitely. Definitely grating on his nerves. He could feel him breathe down his neck which is stupid because there was no way he could be since he was present inside of Hajime’s consciousness. Co-existing would be a better term. Living together is another way to put it. Just two budding roommates sharing a body instead of a room might as well just call them body mates because that is now a thing. 

** _Or you can continue to be difficult._ ** _ _

Hajime scoffed. Continuing to give one line of advice, which by the way always happens to be stated more like a command from the Lord and savior Kamukura Izuru. Maybe if he ever learned what tact was then he would have appreciated the gesture. And it’s not like Hajime hasn’t thought about hacking in. He has. Quite a lot. 

There had to be a team who was working on this before him. If they had a group track down the remnants of despair, then obviously there was one after these guys and they had to have found something. They've been missing for over a year or two now, there was no way he’d be able to get a hold of eyewitnesses or even find a clue at the spots of where each of these students were last seen. But, that group, on the other hand, they could have. 

The only thing holding Hajime back from actually hacking in was the fact that wouldn’t he be breaching Makoto’s trust? Future Foundation was letting them live and here he was planning his way into invading their servers. Wouldn’t he be putting everyone else in danger? Quite frankly a lot of people didn't trust them still. Just because they took the fall of what happened to cover up what really happened at the headquarters doesn’t mean they would stop being wary of them. They were the Remnants of Despair after all. No amount of community work would likely ever erase that from their ledger. Heck, Hajime knew some of the people on this very island were still wary around him and he sure as hell didn’t want to find out how they’d react to the fact that Kamukura Izuru was very much alive and present inside of him. 

Yes, exactly like the venom symbiote shit. Minus the fact that Izuru wasn’t a symbiote. Though all he had for confirmation was Izuru’s word that he won’t be taking over Hajime’s body. He didn’t even bother to give Hajime a response to the other questions on the subject. 

Anyway, maybe he should probably consider asking Makoto about it before-

“Hinata-kun?” 

Hajime jumped in his chair. A quick glance at the time on the screen showed that it was now 3:26 AM. No one should have been awake right now except for him. And the whole reason he was here in the first place was that he had trouble sleeping. Looking at the pale hair, almost silver from the glow of the screens, Hajime realized he would have been more surprised if it was anyone else standing there instead of Komaeda Nagito. 

“Hinata-kun.” 

Ah. He definitely did not sound happy. Hajime wondered if he did something wrong. Komaeda was frowning at him, his arms crossed over his chest. He made no effort to enter the room, content with just standing there looking down on him. Hajime was feeling guiltier by the second even if he had no idea what he did that was wrong. 

He tried for a smile but was pretty sure it looked more like a wince instead. 

“You said you would stop doing this _ . _ You promised you would try.” His voice was monotonous, like he was bored, that this was something he just had to deal with. 

Guilt stabbed at Hajime’s heart. It completely slipped his mind. It’d barely been two weeks since that talk and here he was going around forgetting about it. He was terrible, the absolute worst. He trusted him to try and Hajime can’t even confirm if he ever really tried or put in any form of effort into fixing his sleep schedule instead of going back to tire himself out with work. First, it had been trying to wake everyone up and restore their memories and whatnot. Next was working on Komaeda’s prosthetic robotic arm and fretting over whether or not he’d accept it. And now? Now it was this. 

Hajime opened his mouth but before he could come up with an apology or an explanation, anything but Komaeda cut him off before he could get a word out. “It’s okay, Hinata-kun.” 

“It is?” 

Komaeda sighed, reaching out a hand towards him,” Of course it is! It clearly never was my place, to begin with, to comment on your sleeping habits. It was very kind of you to indulge me-”

Hajime groaned, tuning him out. No, no please he really didn’t want to deal with this right now. They were doing so well, and now he was responsible for ruining the ongoing streak he had in his head. Komaeda had gone 9 days without breaking into a self depreciative rant. He ruined it from turning it into the double digits. 

** _This is your fault. _ **

_ Oh shut up.  _

He stood up from the chair walking towards Komaeda who still seemed to be going on his rant. Hajime noticed the faraway look in his eyes, the same he always got when he always started talking about hope, just less crazed than it used to be. That’s still an improvement, isn’t it? 

Hajime stood in front of him now. Up close, Komaeda’s skin looked translucent blue in the light. He’s pretty. He’s always been pretty. Hajime felt his heart flutter in his chest. 

** _Are you sure this is the right time for you to be taking note of how attractive you find his physical appearance? _ **

_ I swear if you don’t zip it- _

“Oh, Hinata-kun?” 

Ah. He had a plan in mind when he walked up here. Now he no longer remembered what that was. 

** _Something about kissing him to prevent him from speaking. _ **

_ Since when did you get so chatty? _

Hajime sighed. Okay fine, that had been his plan. A chaste kiss and a suggestion of going for a walk on the beach ‘just like the old times’. Except the plan had been flawed since the beginning. Who was he even kidding? Hajime was many things but being smooth was definitely not one of them. And it's not like he really ever has anything going for him, especially not with a personality that has ingrained being tired into his own DNA. 

Man, he really was tired. 

Komaeda was frowning at him now. Hajime figured he was being weirder than usual because, yes, he would definitely be frowning at himself too. 

“I need some air,” he mumbled, pushing past an even more confused Komaeda. 

Outside, buildings rose around him, half of them partially destroyed. Island number 5, the equivalent of a small scale city. In the moonlight, it looked as eerie and empty as ever. Even more post-apocalyptic than the rest of Jabberwock Island. 

Hajime hated it the most. 

He stood, staring at the moon, the distant sound of waves the only thing he could hear. In the simulation, the last time he’d been on this island, he had been investigating what was definitely the worst murder that had occurred. Every single time he expected a hint or a taunt as a particular someone leaned over his shoulder, continuing to smell like lime and fresh laundry despite everything. But of course, that never happened. Hajime doubted he’d ever forget the frozen look of pain on Komaeda’s face. 

The slight creak of the hinges of the door closing behind him broke him out of his reverie. 

“You’re still here.” 

Hajime hummed in response as he turned to look at him. He really was glad he was still alive. Komaeda really meant so much to him more than he ever realized even in the simulation. Now, with the majority of his memory recovered, it almost felt like they were always destined to each other, which of course is the sappiest thought he’d ever had but heck it’s 4 AM and a man just realized how much feelings he has for someone who may as well be the love of his life and he lost him once and he won’t ever allow that to ever-

“You know, Hinata-kun, for someone considered as the Ultimate Hope you are hopeless aren’t you?” Komaeda asked, the tone leaning towards condescending. Even though there was barely a 1cm height difference between them, Komaeda still managed to look down on him. Hajime gulped.  _ Honestly, what the everloving fuck?  _

“You spent all that time, trying to figure out where they went and the answer was right there all along and you still haven’t pieced it together. All those hours worrying about not being able to find a clue when it is so obvious. But of course, you’re just a reserve course stud- Oh but that’s not exactly true anymore, is it? Even being Kamukura Izuru, the one responsible for the second one and yet you’re still suffering.”

Hajime wasn’t going to lie. It stung. But, did Komaeda actually figure out where they were? By just looking over the information in the time he’d spent standing here staring at the sky? That’s ridiculous. 

_ Hey, it’s ridiculous, right? What he’s going on about. It’s impossible?  _

Sure now when he needed him, he wasn’t going to respond. Classic. 

“What are you talking about?” he asked since it seemed like the safest response to go with. 

“Every single time so far, when 15 students affiliated with Hope’s Peak have gone missing, a killing game takes place. How’s this time any different?” 

** _If it is of any consolation, I approve of your feelings towards him. _ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for real tho im really sorry this took so long yay to being quarantined so i can actually devote more time to writing :D and im also very sorry if this chapter was a let down next to the previous ones i'll make it up to you guys i swear and it'll be up wayyy sooner than i normally take with this lol 
> 
> anyway lemme know your views on this and thank you so much for reading im really very grateful <33


	4. gatherin of the creepers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shuichi pov yay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wrote this in 2 days and damn certainly felt like it was way longer than 3k lol i guess not

As he crept out of his room for the fifth time that week at 2 AM, Saihara Shuichi wondered how much longer he’d be able to convince himself that this wasn’t becoming an obsession. 

Because it was. 

He couldn’t lie to himself and say he was trying to figure “things” out. There was nothing to figure out. At least nothing that required him to sneak into the chamber that Ouma’s simulation pod was kept in and watch the entire killing game from his perspective. 

So, there he was, for the fifth time that week, with his hand on the door trying to remember since when was he okay with what was probably a massive disregard of privacy. He pushed the door open, he was too far down this path to back out now. 

Everything after that was methodical: walking up to the various screens, switching on the one he needed, entering the security code (he had memorized his counselor’s), sorting through the files and finally, picking up where he left off. He didn’t dare switch the lights on in case it attracted attention. He settled back in the chair and allowed himself to get lost once again in the very events that plagued his mind (and life) for days. 

Saihara knew he fucked up as a detective. There were so many signs, so many hints dropped- how? How was he so incompetent to not pick up on any of them? It’s not that he didn’t push through with trying to understand Ouma. Despite everything, he kept going back to him. But that wasn’t enough, not when he never tried as hard as he should have. All he’d ever done was call out on Ouma’s lies, he never pushed through to find out the actual truth behind them because another thing Ouma was good at was dodging the question. 

But, he’d seem pleased whenever Saihara called out his lies whenever they spent time together. He’d seem hopeful. Ouma had believed the best of him and in return when he really needed him, Saihara believed the worst. He had trusted Saihara to see through him, to realize what he was doing and Saihara failed him. He had believed that if anyone could cut through his lies and see him for who he really was it was Saihara. He had hoped he could end the killing game with his help. 

He hoped he wouldn’t be alone. Even if everything he did was to drive people away from him, even if everything he did was to make them hate him, to make sure they turned themselves against him, Saihara realized Ouma wished he didn’t have to be alone. 

But he was and Saihara blamed himself. 

What hurt most of all was that Ouma had expected it and that apparently it didn’t stop him from believing that Saihara would manage to end the game when the time came. That he knew one day he was capable of crossing the line and turning the only person who made an attempt at understanding him (and accepted it too) broke Saihara apart in more ways than he would like. 

It tore him apart seeing Ouma cry himself to sleep the night of the first class trial. He had tried so hard to hold them in before giving up and falling to his side, hand reaching out to grab at the sheets beside him. Saihara knew he’d been close with Amami. So, why did it surprise him that he cried for him? Didn’t he cry for Akamatsu? 

(Saihara knew he was crossing a line, that even though he was invading someone’s privacy by looking at how their whole day went, this certainly was off-limits. His finger was poised above the screen, ready to fast forward. He never did.)

He knew Ouma used to hang out with Gonta. Saihara also knew that he was wry of the fact that Ouma would have corrupted him in some way or form. Now, as he listened to Ouma ask Gonta in a voice more vulnerable than he ever heard before, he hated himself for ever thinking that. “Hey, Gonta you won’t ever betray me, will you?” 

(It didn’t take Saihara long to piece together the source of uncalled anger at the start of the 4th class trial. Ouma thought Gonta had betrayed him. It took another moment to realize that the tears he’d shed at the class trial had been real, that he meant the requests of being the one executed instead of Gonta. Another moment still to realize that he had kindness in him to let Gonta believe the lie that whatever he did was to protect the others.)

“The more you suffer, the more I enjoy it,” Ouma was saying on screen, grinning as if he’d finally gone unhinged. It felt like a punch to the gut when Saihara finally placed what the tone of voice really meant: instead of the pure unadulterated malice he’d always thought it was, it was self-hatred so deep and strong. Ouma had hated every second of his facade, but he still managed to maintain it. Everything he’d ever done had been with one goal in mind and that was to end the killing game for good. Saihara wasn’t sure if he’d have been able to end the game himself without Ouma’s help.

Wallowing in self-regret was how Saihara Shuichi currently found himself spending most of his days. He was grateful that everyone was ultimately still alive and physically well, but apparently that didn’t stop him from agonizing in all the ways he could have ended the game sooner if he’d just tried harder, pushed further, not fallen for the act, and paid more attention. The list could go on. They would have ended the game earlier. They certainly wouldn’t have had the extent of psychological trauma they have right now. 

And Ouma. He wouldn’t hate him as much as he did right now. Saihara wouldn’t have failed him-.

The door pushed open, breaking his concentration. He scrambled from his seat, staring at the gap at the door, watching in horror as a hand reached out and switched the lights on. Saihara squinted his eyes against the sudden brightness, taking note of the flash of avocado green hair. 

“Hey man, didn’t mean to startle you,” Amami called out, sheepishly raising his hand to the back of his neck in that way of his. He turned his gaze to the screens and the chair Saihara was now standing behind (something Saihara really hoped he wasn’t going to do). He could only watch as Amami’s sheepish smile fell into something more stoic. “Yeah, I kinda figured that was what you were up to.” 

He entered the room, closing the door behind him. “Really was hoping it wasn’t though. Ah, I’d wait outside but that would’ve been creepier, wouldn’t it?”

Amami laughed. Apparently he didn’t seem to notice the fact that Saihara was staring at him in shock.  _ Did he really hear him right? He was going to wait outside? He had seen him enter?  _ Saihara’s mind was racing. He could feel his face getting hotter with every second that passed as every single implication of what Amami said forced themselves to the front of his mind. 

“Amami-kun?” He almost sounded hysterical. 

Amami glanced at him, the warmth no longer present in his gaze. Saihara felt as if he was being scrutinized under a microscope, every single flaw on display with nothing he could do to hide them. “Of course it pales in comparison to what you’re doing.” 

Saihara Shuichi hit a new all-time low. Amami Rantarou thought he was a creep (and the worst part was that he couldn’t even deny it). 

This was it, his downfall. He’d finally met his doom, his crushing end. He was the monster-

A sudden burst of laughter cut through his mental pity party. “Oh man, your face,” Amami got out between intakes of air. “I’m just messin’ with ya.” 

Saihara stared at him, dumbfounded. 

“Not that you aren’t currently being a weirdo, because you are,” Amami continued in a more serious tone, pointing a finger at him. “But that’s okay. Your intentions are rather pure, if not downright pitiable.” 

He was pretty sure his brain short-circuited at this point because all he could do was gape at him in response. Was that supposed to make him feel better or make him feel worse than he already did? Sometimes he forgot how smart Amami was. 

“C’mon Saihara-kun, we both know why you’re here,” he sighed. “Moping around and finding more reasons to hate yourself isn’t going to help anyone, especially not him.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

Amami took a step forward and Saihara found himself involuntarily shrinking back. Unfortunately, that made the other boy frown. Panic burst in his chest. He wasn’t just some weirdo monster now, oh no, he was the weirdo monster who made Amami Rantarou frown. He should fix this, he really should try to fix this. He opened his mouth to apologize but of course, his mouth had other ideas as he found himself blurting out,” How did you know I was in here anyway?”

He raised an eyebrow in response which was almost enough for Saihara to retract his statement and tell him to ignore it, he has no need to answer that, since he isn’t really in a position to be asking questions. However, looking at the way Amami averted his gaze as if hoping to avoid the question, Saihara decided to stay quiet and stood a little straighter. 

“About that,” Amami’s mouth twitched, a movement so minuscule Saihara was sure he imagined it. “I saw you go in.” 

“Why do I get the feeling you’re withholding information, Amami-kun?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest as Amami finally looked at him. He didn’t seem to look particularly happy about being called out. 

And then the moment passed as he gave out a soft laugh, raising his hands up in surrender. “Alright Saihara-kun, you got me. I saw you out and about so I decided to follow you.” 

“When was that?” 

Huh, his smile seemed to have gotten tighter. “Day before.” 

“And?” 

The smile widened. “Yesterday, to see how long you spent here and to make sure it wasn’t a one-time thing .” 

Oh? “So you were stalking me.”

“C’mon, when you put it like that it makes me sound like a weirdo instead of a guy lookin’ out for a friend.”

Oh. Saihara realized that it was probably best if he sat down for this, whatever this was. As he plopped himself down in the chair again, he wondered whether his current behavior was in any way worrying the others, he didn’t think so. Sleeping in and skipping breakfast was a regular habit of his, nothing he was doing should be a cause of concern, he scheduled it that way. 

“Saihara-kun, no one else knows. Just me.” 

Saihara turned his chair to face him. Sometimes he really did forget how smart Amami was. “Can you keep this between the two of us? Please?” 

Amami crossed his arms over his chest and looked at him sternly, giving him what Saihara considered was major ‘oldest sibling’ vibes. “Only on one condition.” 

“What is it?” 

“You stop coming in here.” Saihara made a sound of protest  _ (No, Amami didn’t understand-) _ , but he raised his hand and continued speaking, “I know you miss Ouma-kun, I know he means a lot to you and I certainly don’t need to tell you how you’re invading his privacy. Watching the killing game just to find more reasons to beat yourself up on how you failed as a detective isn’t helping anyone and it certainly isn’t helping him.”

“But-.” 

“I’m not done. The real Ouma Kokichi needs you to be there for him and that in no way involves agonizing yourself over things you wish you did differently in the game because trust me, a lot of us feel that way albeit for different reasons. Don’t you think I wish I did things differently? Some ultimate survivor I am. ” 

Amami chuckled, shaking his head. “The point is, Saihara-kun, your method of coping is, quite frankly, unhealthy and Ouma would certainly not appreciate it if he knew you’ve been watching pretaped videos of him showering.”

Saihara let out an indignant squawk, a noise he never really knew he was capable of making, as his face heated up. “I HAVE NOT BEEN-”

Amami grinned at him, wide and genuine. He really did look beautiful when he smiled like that, Saihara noted. “I was just messin’ with ya again, man. I trust you, and it’d be real heartbroken hours if it turns out you’re a pervert.” 

Saihara glared at him.

“Aw c’mon, I’ll get you something from the vending machine now so, stop pouting at me.” He’d always noticed how quick Amami was at changing his expression in the blink of an eye but seeing him become serious again felt like a whiplash. “Now do we have a deal?” 

Ah. Saihara knew he didn’t really have much of a choice and Amami did have a point. A point which he had tried squashing and ignoring every time it popped up in his head. He never really even tried talking to Ouma after that day. Maybe he should have but he was pretty sure he never wanted anything to do with him ever again and Saihara didn’t want to be the equivalent of an overbearing pest. And if Ouma were to ever catch wind of this he’d never want to be within less than 100 feet of him. That was certain. 

Saihara sighed, putting his face in his hands. “Yes, we have a deal.”

“I’m gonna need you to be louder than that, man.” 

“Yes Amami-kun, we have a deal,” Saihara replied, raising his head to look at him.

“Great!” Amami smiled at him, another genuine one. It really was breathtaking to look at. “It’ll be okay. We’ll figure it out, I swear. For now, I promised you a drink from the wending machine. After that, though you’re going straight to bed. There’s stuff I need to discuss with you tomorrow and I need you rested for it.”

“What stuff?” Saihara asked, getting up from his chair. 

The other boy paused for a moment as if he were debating on which answer would be more suited. When he finally seemed to settle on one, his expression darkened as he grinned making him look unhinged. It was one of those times where Saihara Shuichi questioned how well he really knew Amami Rantarou. 

“Comparing notes on this place, that’s all.” 

* * *

_ He killed more.  _

_ Not because he wanted to but because Saihara-chan said it was self-defense. And In most cases, it was.  _

_ Ouma would never admit it out loud, but sometimes his beloved terrified him with the amount of enthusiasm he had when taking people down. Almost a little too… trigger happy. But they didn’t have guns so Saihara-chan couldn’t really pull the trigger. That didn’t stop him from dealing damage to those that threatened them, damage more violent and painful than a mere gunshot wound. Ouma was certain of it.  _

_ It wasn't like Ouma was one to talk though. As much as he tried to deny it, as much as he tried to squash it, he did enjoy it in the heat of the moment. There was something poetic about being the one to deal the fatal blow to someone who was about to take advantage of you just because they thought you were weak. But when the animalistic moment passed like a switch being flipped, Ouma knew that despite everything he was the monster. They were disgusting pieces of trash, the scum of society but he was the monster.  _

_ Ouma Kokichi would never admit it out loud, but sometimes he terrified himself.  _

_ His beloved seemed to have a switch inside him too, he noticed. However, Saihara-chan seemed to react to it hours after the feat was done unlike his which was always right after, and on some occasions in between.  _

_ Saihara-chan would then stare at the wall, expression blank and unresponsive to his surroundings until he finally turned his attention towards Ouma. “It was for self-defense, right?”  _

_ His voice would be hollow, vulnerable. A tone almost unbearable for Ouma to hear. He never wanted to see his beloved like this, he never wanted to see him in pain, never wanted him to be in pain, and he certainly didn’t want him to be burdened by the guilt of it all. _

_ So he took the guilt upon himself; he’d feel enough of it for both of them. That’s how this would work. After all, no one cared for him as much as his beloved Saihara-chan did. He felt it in the way he held him close in the dark when the nightmares came, slowly stroking his hair. He felt it in the way he gently washed his wounds or reapplied his bandages or fussed over him. He felt it in the way he wiped his tears away, in the way his mouth chased his, and in the way his tongue felt against his as he explored every inch of his mouth.  _

_ “It was,” he replied, voice as reassuring as he could make it.  _

_ Ouma Kokichi would feel enough guilt for both of them, even if they end up attacking someone over something as meager as the way they looked at them.  _

_ After all, it’s the least he can do. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i seriously love and appreciate every single person who's read this or dropped a kudos or comment ! it really really makes my day 34565464x better so thank you :D
> 
> sooo lemme know what you think i'd love to hear it


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